All Talons and Teeth
by phollie
Summary: These occasions start off friendly enough - but they never fail to wind down to this. / Gilbert/Break. Smut.


A/N: …This was not supposed to end in a smutty fashion but it did and I am pleased as punch. Literally.

Lyrics are "Atlas Air" by Massive Attack, one of my big Gil/Break songs. :3

* * *

><p>prompt: 4. dancing with the devil<p>

__**.all talons and teeth**

__/

_shall we take a spin again in business?_

_this time is fixed, let's sweeten our facilities_

_it took all the man in me_

_to be the dog you wanted me to be_

__/

These occasions start off friendly enough – or at least friendly in Break's terms, which have always been a bit unconventional – but they never fail to wind down to this: Gilbert's arm is twisted in a fierce bend behind his back, head tilted roughly to the side from Break's hard yank of his hair, legs scrambling to free themselves from beneath the weight of Break's body as he sits on the back of the man's knees, immobilizing him face-first on the hard floor. "Like I said," Break sighs out pleasantly, "just admit your defeat and I'll let you go. It's that simple."

Gilbert's cheek presses into the hardwood as he struggles to look behind him. His face is flushed, beads of sweat forming at his temples. The look suits him. "F-Fuck you…"

"Is _that _what we're here for?" Break's laugh is light as a feather as he twists his hand in Gilbert's hair; he's graced with a hiss and a flinch, and he smiles, devilishly charmed. "My, I'm flattered."

"Dammit, Break, that's not what I – " Gilbert arches with a pained growl when Break tugs at his arm again, pinning it hard against the small of his back. "E-Ease up on that a little, it hurts!"

"It's supposed to hurt, Gilbert," Break says, as if speaking to a small, dumb child – which, in theory, he is, without the former factor. "You're lucky it's me and not a real enemy pressing a blade to your throat. Now counter me."

"I _can't_ with you sitting on me!"

Break's head lolls lazily to the side, expression immediately deadpanning. "Oh, yes, all ten pounds of me. Counter me, you fool."

In a flash, Gilbert jerks his free arm behind him and quite nearly clocks Break upside the head; the speedy shift to avoid the blow inadvertently rocks Break's willowy form to the side as well, giving Gilbert ample room to flip them both over until he's straddling Break's hips. The swift change in position causes Break to release his hold on Gilbert's arm, and he quite suddenly finds his own self being pinned as Gilbert grabs his fragile wrists and holds them down above his head. The delicate bones grind painfully against the floor when Gilbert leans forward, pressing more of his weight onto him until even Break must admit some discomfort. Looming over him as he is, Gilbert looks like some wild animal, all ravaged hair clinging to his damp cheeks and eyes that flash in a moment's victory; his smile is quick and fleeting, almost unrecognizable on such a normally withdrawn face, before he pants out, "Not so snarky now, are you?"

But in all actuality, Break has always known how to be a bit scary, too. It comes so naturally to him that he doesn't even bat an eyelash upon jerking his hips up to wrap his legs around Gilbert's back, red eye glittering as he bears a tiger's grin up at him. "So what are you going to do now, hm? Tear me to pieces? Claw my throat out with those talons of yours?" He takes a moment to gather another breath about him; even he's become winded with all this thrashing around. "You look hungry enough to do it. What's stopping you?"

Within the second, Gilbert's gaze shifts from proud to stricken, eyes widening, pretty mouth going agape; it's this crucial moment of weakness that Break takes immediate advantage of, jerking his hips up again so that Gilbert is sent toppling over, balance broken in such a way that he all but flies over Break's shoulder and crashes into the nearby wall. The thump of his side hitting the unyielding plaster is a precursor to the shaky, stunned hiss of pain that Break hears even over his own airy cackle, heart pounding in his throat from the adrenaline burst that somehow still exists in this tired old body of his.

With a hard tug, Break pulls Gilbert back against him and crushes him down to the floor again, pinning the man's arms at his sides to incapacitate him in one swift movement. Gilbert's back arches in a shameless bend, cursing hateful, breathy things between his teeth as his hips grind back against Break's in a sad attempt at wriggling free, only for Break to bear down harder on him and push him forward with a rough jolt. Gilbert lets out a harsh gasp, and Break leers down close to him to find the man's eyes wired and fixed on the wall, unseeing as his face is colored a heated red. "Oh, would you look at that?" Break's voice is little more than syrupy sweetness laced with something toxic, proven all the more poisonous when he feels Gilbert shiver. "Looks like I've got you again. What's your plan of escape this time, Mr. Gilbert?"

"B-Break, stop – "

"You're breathing awfully heavy there," Break observes genially. "Am I constricting something? Or have I already worn you out?"

The small, helpless noise that emits from Gilbert's throat can only be classified as a _whimper_, and Break is momentarily stunned at the smallness of it; it's not a curse or a cry, not even a revolted grumble of Break's name, and it's so unlike the razor-edged fire that strikes at Gilbert during these episodes of pseudo-deathtraps that he's inclined to peer closer at him and ask, "I haven't gone and broken anything, have I? That would be bothersome…"

"L-Let me go," Gilbert gasps out, having gone stock-still in Break's hold save for the tremors that wrack his body.

Break furrows his brow in a moment's honest confusion. It's not like Gilbert to give up this easily, especially after having just previously managed to get a leg up in the battle, however feigned Break's defeat had been. Either way, he studies the man's face for another moment before coming to a conclusion – and a most amusing one, at that, what with how hot Gilbert's face is flushed and how his eyes automatically squeeze shut after briefly meeting Break's eye.

It takes him not another second to figure it out.

"Oh, my," he admits on a quiet laugh, keeping Gilbert's arm pinned in the crook of his own as he rests his elbow between the other's shoulder blades. Setting his chin atop his palm, he looks down at Gilbert with a lazy smile, eyes lidding. "Can't say I was expecting this turn of events…and judging by your expression, neither were _you_."

"Shut the hell up, Break…!" Gilbert tries in vain to shift his hips to the side to conceal the evidence of his own frustration, but it's far too late for him to try and hide it – Break is all-seeing, all-knowing, and forever-teasing. Even Gilbert must have figured that out by now. "Y-You said you'd let me go if I asked, so do it!"

"Mm, that? I was lying. Sorry."

"You're not sorry at all!" Gilbert's voice cracks, and he bows his head, shaking like a leaf. "I hate you," he pants out. "I fucking _hate_ you…"

"As you should." And just like that, Break is quick to act again – he tugs Gilbert onto his side and wrenches him back into a deep bend, winding their legs together to render him unable to escape again. Gilbert kicks and thrashes in response, but it's fruitless. Curled tightly around him as he is, Break has the upper hand once more, adding insult to injury when he weaves his fingers through dark, messy curls to coax the other's head back. "You didn't _honestly_ think I'd let something like that put a damper on this, right? Do you think a real enemy would let you off easy?"

"I-It wouldn't _happen_ with a real enemy, god dammit!"

There he goes again, speaking without thinking. Break laughs in his ear, the pad of his thumb teasing over the sensitive pressure point of Gilbert's neck; just one press is all it would take to melt him down to nothingness. "So does that make me a special case, then?"

Gilbert's only response is a gruff whine and a turn of his head; the motion only inadvertently strokes Break's thumb over the nape of his neck, and he shivers hard again, cursing his own undoing beneath his breath. "Why aren't you letting me go?" he demands, albeit pathetically.

"Because the fight isn't over yet."

"Break, I'm _done_ fighting with you!"

"Not until you take me down again," is Break's last challenge, purred on a whisper, and it's all it takes to send Gilbert into a frenzy of flailing limbs and winded growls that Break can only counter with clean, precise movements that Gilbert, in this passionate state of mortified rage, could never match. In the midst of their rolling and writhing and bumping into the coffee table, sending newspapers and mugs and ashtrays falling onto the floor, not once is Gilbert able to premeditate Break's crafty calmness; Break can hear the man's half-contained whimpers and stifled groans whenever they happen to collide in such a way that Break can feel that hard tension against his thigh, his stomach, his hip, and finally the palm of his hand in a cruel try at enraging Gilbert enough to finally defeat him.

But it doesn't work, and Gilbert seems to give up on the dot as he flattens out on his back and covers his face with his hands, throwing away all pretenses of preserving his modesty when he bucks up into Break's palm with a lost, hopeless moan. Break can only hiss out a chuckle at the pathetic sight, unbuttoning and unzipping the other until he can wrap his hand around hot, aching flesh and stroke at him hard and fast, nearly thrown off course with every jump and roll of Gilbert's hips up and into his hand. Gilbert's hands fall away from his face and reach blindly for Break, grasping at the slippery silk of his shirt to hold onto as he gasps and mewls and makes an absolute _fool_ of himself before Break's very eye. So driven by temptation, this poor creature is, so determined and yet so easily shot down to the ground – which is exactly why Break foresees the man's unraveling when he swoops down to take him into his mouth, bobbing his head and dragging his tongue hot and felicitous over the head of Gilbert's cock with a languorous moan of his own; it's entirely fabricated and perfectly designed to make the man crack, just as every lave of his mouth over eager flesh brings Gilbert that much closer to melting down and exposing everything. Trembling, slender fingers grip at Break's hair in fierce little pulses as Gilbert jerks up clumsily into his mouth, panting up at the ceiling as his legs go tense in Break's hold. "O-Oh, fuck – fuck, Break, _g-god – _"

Those desperate words strike Break as some sort of last will and testament, and his shoulders bob with a muffled laugh just as Gilbert comes on a choked-off cry, arching his back and going unbreakably tense as he spills over in hot, shuddering waves. Break takes each one down, bright eye flitting up to catch sight of Gilbert's head tossed to the side, one heated cheek pressed to the floor and eyes shut tight. He's an absolute sight like this, shaking and sweating and trying to regain his breath in feeble inhales, and Break pats him on the knee, commending him on a job well done. It's a condescending gesture, and Gilbert weakly slaps at his arm for it, calling him a twat or something equally graceless that Break only regards with a smile.

Gilbert will avoid him for the entirety of the following week. Break expects nothing less.


End file.
